The Game

by Anne Black

  I text back, "Sorry, can't make it."

  My phone rings and it's Finn's number so I send it straight to voicemail.

  He texts me a few minutes later. "I know you sent me to voicemail. What's up? I thought we had plans."

  I open my purse and shove the phone into it, and walk to the back of my apartment so I don't hear the incoming message notifications. He can't play with me like this. I'm not one of his little groupies, eager for any attention he'll throw my way.

  A few hours later, I'm relaxing in front of an old episode of The Office in my yoga pants with a Chipotle burrito and a glass of wine. I really know how to live it up on my one day off. I'm planning to cap off this excitement by getting crazy with a bowl of Ben and Jerry's Mint Oreo Cookie a little later.

  There's a knock at my door and I cautiously approach the peephole, wondering if I should grab a weapon on the way there. The only available weapon-ish item within arm's reach right now is a golf umbrella, which isn't going to stop a crazed killer trying to force his way into my apartment. I take a peek through the peephole and see Finn on the other side. Shit! What's he doing here? And why did I ever let him take me home last week? I wonder if I can pretend I'm not here when he leans on the doorframe and says, "Katey, I know you're home. I can see your eye behind the peephole." Foiled again.

  I open the door, but don't invite him in. "Why are you here?"

  He puts his left hand in his jeans pocket and runs his right hand through his hair. He almost looks nervous. "You didn't answer my texts or my calls. What happened? Is The Office so important that you can't possibly tear yourself away? For God's sake, you're watching it on On Demand, you can just pause it and come back to it any time."

  I look behind me and see Michael Scott paused in mid-conversation on my television.

  "I decided it was a bad idea," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "We shouldn't be doing this. It's not right."

  "You didn't think it was so wrong the other day on your couch," he says, smiling.

  "My decision-making skills were compromised. But now that I've had time to reflect, I don't think it's a good idea for me to be hanging out with players outside the ballpark. It could cost me my job. I'm sorry, but it's just how it is." I can't resist snarkily adding, "I'm sure one of your little interns is just waiting for an invitation to make out with you again. Maybe you should text her."

  Finn looks quizzically at me. "I have no idea what you are talking about, but you know you sound crazy, right?"

  "I'm crazy? I'm not the one sucking face with a twenty-one-year-old bimbo at a club in full view of everyone."

  "Katey, can I please come in so your neighbors don't get more of a wrong idea than they're probably getting right now?"

  "Don't call me Katey," I snap.

  "Fine. Katelyn, I'm going to come in and sit down in that chair and you're going to sit on the couch and we're going to have a polite discussion like rational adults." Finn walks in and I shut the door behind him.

  "How would you know what rational adults sound like? You're too busy hooking up with college girls. They're not adults."

  "Could you please explain what you think you saw? Because I can assure you I haven't made out with any interns at any club. Well, at least not since I left college." He looks at me expectantly.

  "Maggie, one half of the stupid dynamic duo that interns in the marketing department, was talking with the other little girl she's always with. She was regaling her partner in crime with the story of how she hung out with you at Vicious and ended up shoving her tongue down your throat."

  Finn chuckles, which annoys me to no end. Now he's making light of this? I want to wipe that smug look off his face, but he starts talking.

  "Katey, listen to me, I did not make out with anyone at Vicious. Brady brought her and her friends over to the table and started buying them drinks. It was a short jump from drinks to full-out groping. She was all over him."

  Brady? Brady Turner? Another member of the pitching staff? I replay the conversation I overhead again in my mind. Now that I think about it, Maggie was using an awful lot of pronouns and gesturing in the general direction of a group of players. And Brady was definitely in that group, warming up with Finn.

  "It was Brady?" I ask, repeating what he's just told me.

  "It was Brady. And I left once they started doing tequila shots off some girl's chest. That isn't anything I need splashed across Page Four."

  I look down at my hands. This isn't awkward or anything. I look back up, meeting his gaze.

  "I'm sorry, you must think I'm an insane person," I say quietly.

  "No, I think you were misled by circumstantial evidence. Aren't reporters supposed to be impartial? Aren't you required to interview both parties before making a judgment?" I can tell he's teasing me.

  "You're right," I say. "I apologize. I was wrong."

  "So can we stop this nonsense and start over?" Finn asks.

  "I would like that."

  Finn checks his watch and sighs. It's after ten.

  "Listen, as much as I hate to do this, I think we should reschedule. I don't want to be the guy who shows up at your door for a booty call--"

  I cut him off. "Booty call? Did you seriously just say the words booty call? Hey, 1999 called and it wants its phrase back."

  Finn stands and laughs. "Whatever you call it, I don't want it. I want to take you on a proper date. Well, a proper date at my place because you've outlawed us appearing together in public. So let's try this again. We're going on a road trip Sunday night and I'd like to see you before then. How do we make this work?"

  A man who actually wants to date in this day and age? I thought I'd have an easier time finding Bigfoot in the Loop. I'm not even sure what to say. I grab my phone and look at my calendar. "I'm not covering the game on Thursday. I have to attend diversity training at the mothership, so they got a stringer to fill in."

  "And I pitch Wednesday, so I don't have to stay for the whole game Thursday. Second time's a charm? Dinner at my place Thursday night?"

  "I would be honored."

  Finn walks to the door and I follow him. He stops and turns, leaning down to kiss me softly. I angle my head upward, feeling a heat between my thighs. We kiss for several minutes, taking our time and finally separating only when his phone pings. He sheepishly gives me one last quick kiss before I close the door behind him.

  "Thursday can't come soon enough," I whisper to the door.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I've spent the last fifteen minutes on the phone with Steph, bringing her up to speed on the Finn situation. She screamed so loud when I told her we've made out -- not once, but twice -- that I think I'm permanently deaf in my left ear. And while there's nothing else I would rather be doing right now than discussing the possibility of an actual lovelife in my near future, I also have a looming situation with work.

  "Listen, Steph, I have to go get ready," I say. "The boss man has summoned me to his lair for a face-to-face this afternoon,"

  "Ugh. Let me know how it goes," she replies. "I know how crazy he is, but maybe he wants to bring you in for a surprise promotion and raise."

  "More like an unsurprising beat-down of my writing skills and a list of all the scoops the News Times has beat us on. I'm so looking forward to it." I say goodbye and press the screen to end our call and drag myself out of bed to the bathroom. I stare at my face, annoyed with myself that I didn't bother to remove my makeup last night. My hair could use a trim, but maybe Steph was right, maybe I should go back to my former blonde self. My natural brunette locks are much easier to maintain, however, and I don't have the time for the every-six-weeks appointments for dye and highlights with my schedule.

  After a quick shower, I grab my laptop bag and my purse and walk to the train. I spend the entire train ride willing myself to think of other things, flicking through Twitter on my phone and reading the replies to my live posts from last night's game. As always, the stupidity of anonymous Internet beings never ceases to amaze m
e. I swipe through several hundred versions of "Stars suck!" and actually laugh when I read a comment by "StarFckrr7851" that reads, "I don't care how they played, I would let any of those boys slide into my home plate." Well played, my friend, well played.

  I exit the train at the Washington stop and walk the short distance to our office building. It still gives me a thrill to walk in the revolving door and take the elevator to the fourteenth-floor sports department. The environment here is a more like a high-school locker room than a place of employment. Men in jeans and baseball hats sit at desks covered in sports paraphernalia. Pennants, bobbleheads, signed baseballs enclosed in acrylic boxes litter workspaces while framed, signed athletic jerseys from various sports hang from every flat surface. Wall-mounted televisions are tuned to ESPN, ESPN2, ESPN News and the local sports affiliate. A lone TV is showing CNN, although no one ever glances at it. It's like the real world and its news doesn't exist in the testosterone department.

  I wave to a few co-workers as I walk towards Nick's office, and dodge an errant Nerf football that two copy editors are tossing around. It's like a giant frat house in here, which is exactly why I spend as little time here as possible. I knock on Nick's open door and he motions for me to come in while holding his desk phone to his ear. I sit down on the couch in the corner of his office while he talks.

  "Yes, I know," he says. "No, I got it. Don't worry, we're on it." He finishes the call and stands up to close the door behind me. He sits down in a chair across from me and throws a copy of today's paper on the low table between us.

  "Nice job last night," he says, to my shock. Nick never compliments me or my work. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you something. I heard you and Mike Barton had a run-in recently. True or false?"

  "Nothing happened," I say, shrugging. "He was just being a jerk."

  "That's not how I heard it," he says. "Word on the street is he got in your face and someone came to your rescue."

  Reporters have the biggest mouths on the planet, I swear to God. I'm surprised video of the incident with Mike, which was really a non-incident, hasn't been posted on Facebook yet.

  "So," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Ryan Finnegan."

  My heart beats faster and my mouth instantly goes dry. How could Nick possibly know about me and Finn? Does he have my house bugged? Did he record my conversation with Steph? Oh my God. I stare at him and manage to ask, "What about him?"

  "You've met him?" Nick asks.

  "Yes, obviously," I say. "I do currently cover the team for which he plays." Just be cool, Katey. No need to jump to conclusions.

  "And what do you know about him so far?"

  "Just what everyone else does," I say. "He's going to single-handedly bring a title to Chicago and end the misery of long-suffering Stars fans across the globe. He's an international superstar." I leave out my near-carnal knowledge of him.

  "That he is," Nick says. "But, there's a little chink in Prince Charming's armor." He passes me a piece of paper with an email printed on it. I quickly scan it and my jaw drops.

  "This can't be true," I sputter. "It's a hoax."

  "Well, I might have been inclined to say the same thing, except there's a low-level buzz about this very topic around certain baseball circles," Nick answers. "A few scouts sitting on bar stools in some hick town saying it, that's one thing. Maybe some quiet talk amongst people in the know in the minors. But to get an email from someone who says he saw it with his own eyes? That's, excuse my pun, a whole other ballgame."

  "If we believe this email, Ryan Finnegan is doing steroids, and not just any steroids, but undetectable steroids?" I ask. My reporter brain kicks into overdrive. "There's no way anyone will ever be able to prove this."

  "No, not anyone," Nick says. "You. Us. The Chronicle. You're going to be so far up Ryan Finnegan's ass, he's going to think you're his proctologist. You're going to get to know this guy, befriend him, draw him into your confidence and generally know everything there is to know about him. Pull out all the stops, Katelyn. I mean it. No holds barred." He pauses and smiles oddly at me. "I hear this guy can't resist a pretty face."

  Is he actually suggesting ... no, my boss did not just insinuate that I should use my feminine wiles to get a story. But, wait, yes, he actually did.

  "This is the kind of story that wins Pulitzers, Katelyn. You can write your ticket after this. Columns, books, TV, whatever you want."

  "Why me?" I ask. "I'm only covering for Jim while he recuperates from his bypass. I'm not even a real beat reporter."

  "We need a woman for this," Nick says carefully. "We've been checking all the angles and running some recon on our good friend, Ryan. And the one thing that keeps coming up is that he likes the ladies. We figure if we can get you on the inside, he'll succumb to your charms."

  Little does Nick know it's Finn's charms that made me succumb.

  "This is the kind of story that ruins lives," I point out. "I'll be the most hated woman in all of Chicago if I'm the one to bring down their beloved chosen one."

  "You'll be the most respected woman in all of sports reporting if you blow the cover off a steroid scandal this major. It's going to involve the most prominent names in baseball when it's all said and done. This is it, Katelyn. Right here. Now, do you have it in you?"

  I take a deep breath and exhale. Do I have a choice?

  Thanks for reading The Game - Book 1! If you enjoyed the book and have a minute, I would greatly appreciate a short review to help spread the love.

  Can't wait to see what happens next? The Game - Book 2 is available now!

  You can also sign up for notifications when future installments of The Game are available, as well as giveaways and pre-release specials at www.anneblackbooks.com/list.

  Anne Black books

  The Game - Book 1

  The Game - Book 2

  The Game - Book 3

  The Game - Book 4 (coming January 2015)

  The Game - Book 5 (coming February 2015)

  A former sports reporter, Anne Black lives with her husband and three children in Chicago.

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